Filthy Water
by Leah Day
Summary: Beth Bailey thought joining Section D would be a cleansing experiance. The water's still dirty and John Bateman is proof of that. Rated M for depression and some sexual content and language.


_**Filthy Water**_

_**By Leah Day**_

_**Summary**_

My first spooks fic.

Beth's feelings of betrayal and depression whilst comprehending the fact that the man she could have loved was a lie.

I quite enjoyed the chemistry between Beth and Lucas and was hoping they'd get together. There was something so adorable about the way she looked at him and the way he looked out for her.

I think, in a way, Beth may have been hoping for the same outcome as well.

_**Disclaimer**_

Rated M for some adult content and deep depression. There is a bit of John Bateman bashing, this was done because I wanted to capture Beth's loss and betrayal thus making it necessary to bash the oh so handsome John.

_**Thames house, Harry's office**_

Beth did not want to believe it when Harry Pearce told her and Dmitri that he was dead.

As soon as the lead spook had entered his office, she leapt off her chair, ignorant of Dmitri's worried protests and jogged after Harry, nearly running over fellow officers in her haste.

"I want to see him," she told Harry outright.

"Ms Bailey-"

"I _have_ to see him," Beth pressed urgently.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose then stroked his chin, closing his eyes.

"Who do you want to see, Beth?" he asked wearily. "Lucas or Bateman?"

'_Lucas, Lucas, Lucas,'_

"I want to see John Bateman," Beth lied softly.

Harry stiffly rose to his feet.

"Then please. Come with me," he murmured.

_**A Morgue**_

Beth marched beside the ruffled morgue worker feeling a little smug.

After a few words with Harry, the reluctant staff had decided to give way and go against their policy of family viewing only.

"Shouldn't be here," the man grumbled under his breath, thinking she couldn't hear him. "Sodding Spooks thinking they can throw their weight about. They ain't his frickin family!"

Nostril's flaring; Beth flung the man against a wall.

"This man had no family!" she snarled. "That's why I've come to see him! He had no one!"

Seething with annoyance, Beth pulled the worker away from the wall and nodded for him to continue to lead the way.

OoO

She stared downwards, blue eyes absorbing it all. From what she could see, he seemed peaceful, like he was sleeping, whilst the rest of him was bruised, bloodied and shattered. One didn't have to pull the sheet away to see that. This … corpse was definitely not her colleague, the man she had teased, adored.

The man she could have loved.

Beth Jemima Bailey had liked Lucas North from the moment she met him, despite his vocalised annoyance about her turning up at Thames house like an unwanted puppy dog.

As days went by she felt it fair to deduce that he liked her as well. He had looked out for her. Expected her to work by his side. Shared the occasional round of playful banter with her.

She sniffed.

The park …

That maddened look in his eyes. His howl of rage when she had interrupted him and Vaughn.

The sobs of misery that followed.

She had comforted her colleague before taking him to the abandoned safe house. She put an arm around his shaking back, made all the right noises, assured him over and over again that everything would be alright.

If everything had been alright no one would be lying in a sodding morgue.

'_I should have let you kill the fucking bastard,'_ she thought.

Then what? The Chinese would have pulled the strings and …

Shit. That's what. Shit.

Reaching out, Beth trailed a finger along Bateman's cheek.

It was smooth.

Cold.

"I wish …" she stopped.

No use in crying over spilt milk as her mum always said.

But she wanted _her_ Lucas.

Maya had been welcome to John Bateman; she hadn't wanted anything to do with that insane monster.

But John was Lucas. Lucas was John.

Can't have one without the other.

Beth slid her finger onto John's lips. They were cold, parted slightly.

She half expected him to say "Hello"

"Goodbye," Beth whispered.

She had seen enough.

_**Cab on rout to Thames house**_

"Why do you think he did it?" Beth asked Harry, seated beside him in the back of the bulky black cab. "Why did he kill himself after you said you'd help him, Harry?"

"I believe he wanted us to help _him_ and not Lucas North," Sir Harry replied, looking at his gloved hands that were tightly clasped in his lap.

"We've spent so much time believing in Lucas we never saw him," Beth whispered.

"Maya Lahan saw the real him," Harry pointed out gravely. "And when she died he must have felt he had nothing left to live for."

Beth flicked her tongue across her lips unsure of how to respond.

Seeing the corpse had not given her perspective. It had not given her the peace of mind she craved.

The knife of John's betrayal twisted in her gut.

She scowled.

Hadn't she felt enough of this ugly sensation? The sensation that insisted on residing within her belly like a tiresome squatter.

A single tear slithered down her right cheek.

Angrily, she wiped it away.

She was a proud woman, Beth Bailey. Though not quite the ice queen, she seldom let a tear dart out of her eye.

'_The good looking ones always break your heart with duplicity,'_ she thought acrimoniously.

"The thin lipped bastard," Beth snarled under her breath forgetting herself. "Fucking git fart!"

Harry turned his head, frowning at her.

Realising what she had done, the younger spook sighed shaking her head, not wanting to elaborate.

"Goodnight, Harry," she muttered as soon as the cab pulled outside the illustrious building.

"Goodnight Ms Bailey."

_**Thames house, the grid**_

"Oi, Bailey. Fancy a lager?"

Beth looked up from the nearly deceased keyboard into Dmitri's warm, kind eyes.

Warm and kind.

Not cold and exciting. Not wild.

She wanted to scream.

God she wanted to scream.

"Yeah. I'm up for one," she replied briskly, saving her work. "Where to?"

"Half decent pub ten minute walk from here," Tariq said whilst adjusting his jacket.

"Yeah. Lucas was …" Dmitri stopped.

Reaching up, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

'_Looks like I'm not the only one feeling like shit,_' Beth thought warily.

There was an ugly sense of relief in that.

"Let's get out of here then," she growled, yanking the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

Dmitri put a hand on her arm.

"Beth, are you alright?" he asked, eyes searching her own.

The spook smiled weakly.

"You know … I could really use a shag," she replied.

_**Dmitri's flat, bedroom.**_

She made all the right noises, not wanting him to stop. If he stopped he would ask her if she was alright.

She really did not want to answer that in the middle of a therapeutic shag session.

Dmitri groaned into her bare shoulder. He grinded against her. He pushed her. He stroked her.

Beth involuntarily closed her eyes and envisioned the man she wanted to be with.

She saw the odd, cold eyes. The enigmatic look. The rosy mouth. The glorious tattooed marred skin.

Out of the blue came the reality, the animal, the betrayer with blood seeping out of his nostril, panting, sweating.

The images of the two men blended into one, thus becoming John.

Her nightmare.

Beth's eyes flew open. She shook with fright.

Dmitri cried out, his body shuddering as he filled her.

The woman squirmed beneath him.

'_I'm trapped, I'm trapped, I'm trapped!'_

She couldn't stop him, not now.

God it hurts and he doesn't even know.

'Can't let him know … Can't let him see,'

"Want to go again?" Dmitri panted, lying beside her, body shining in the perfect moonlight.

Beth sucked in air through her nostrils.

"No … I'm going in early tomorrow … Rain check?"

_**Ruth Evershed's house, Beth's room.**_

The water was still filthy. Every single drop was filled with poison.

Filthy water ….

All she had ever wanted was to feel clean again. To do something worthwhile and honest.

Filthy water …

Beth rolled onto her right side, watching the sunrise over the vast myriad of London rooftops.  
>"A new day," she whispered.<p>

_**Thames House, Beth's counselling session.**_

"He was a good boss," Beth told the stout counsellor in a controlled, yet frank, manner. "He seemed to care about his team, Harry … but in the end he was just a liar. A terrorist. He wasn't Lucas North."

"And how do you feel about that? The fact that he wasn't Lucas North?"

Beth pursed her lips.

'_He wasn't Lucas North,'_

He was John Bateman. Mad as a hatter.

A killer.

A terrorist.

Who would want to love someone like John Bateman?

Oh yes.

Maya, dark and lovely. She had loved John Bateman. Now look at where that got her. Dr Lahan was now lying in a morgue. Corpse, according to the gossipers, was situated right beside John's.

Ah, the fucking irony.

'_Wonder where will my corpse be?_' Beth wondered morosely.

"Ms Bailey?"

Reeling back to reality the young woman blushed apologetically.  
>"How do I feel? I feel … angry," she said softly once having gathered herself. "I think that goes for all of us."<p>

_**Ruth's house, the shower.**_

Beth watched in silence as rivulets of water sailed down the side of a breast, stomach, her hips.

Filthy water.

Infecting everything and everyone.

Infecting her.

When was it going to stop?

Pursing her lips, the blond woman reached for the soap.

_**The end**_

_**Authors note**_

Beth being able to see Bateman's body and the Thames house gossips knowing where Maya's body was situated … perhaps a bit unrealistic.

Thank you for reading. If you liked it, excellent. If not, oh well.

Leah.


End file.
